


Cygnus X-1, and Other Binary Systems

by catstrophysics



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Cygnus X-1, Gift for a friend, M/M, One Shot, Outer Space, Secret Santa, Wings, technically secret skeleton, vague references to HP canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catstrophysics/pseuds/catstrophysics
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been near-missing each other forever, and run into one another in the strangest place possible: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Cygnus X-1, and Other Binary Systems

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Secret Skeleton gift for a dear friend of mine, who expressed a love for Harry Potter, Good Omens, and the celestial object Cygnus X-1. Enjoy!

Six thousand years was a long time to explore, was a long time to find every secret place around the world that had just the right amount of sun, just the right temperature water, had the rocks at the perfect angle to lay back and stare at the clouds. Six thousand years let one make a catalog of each of these, filed away on parchment and carved in stone, tucked in a back room or storage crates, dust-covered and time worn. Six thousand years was also long enough to find the magic places, to hunt out castles and caves and side streets that were just removed enough from time to stand immortal. 

Six thousand years was enough time to become the guardian angel of these places, hold them protected under your wings. 

Aziraphale sought out the forest, sun-dappled and solitary, with room to spread wings of white and let the wind warm his feathers. The trees remembered him each and every time, welcoming him with whispers in the leaves of hello and we missed you, and he answered. Silently, soulfully, vibrations of goodwill dripping from his halo into the soil. 

The forest was home when there was none. He kept a folded-up map in his pocket, ink-marked X’s dotting the thick, woven page, and the forests called him through it. Through the point that drew his mind first, he would simply materialize and inhale the greenness. 

His favorite, though, was the forest in Scotland, dark and gloomy by night but oh, how the sun warmed the upper branches. Something about the broken nature of the place, the weight of fears and apprehension cushioning the boughs from below. The distance held a behemoth of a castle, spires reaching towards the clouds and, in some places, piercing straight through, highest stones and peaks of steel reaching to where the birds flew. This castle, his castle he came to know it, held magic in its masonry, and the silver-bell peals of laughter rang from the grounds. It brought warmth to him, the reminder of the joy in the world still. He frequented this forest, draping himself over towering trees and laying back to wait for the world. 

The creatures of his forest were the comfort below, beasts he’d seldom heard named but felt a certain kinship with. The centaurs, especially, he grew to care for, brothers and sisters all of them, and they told him tales of the castle in the mist. One brother, tawny-pelted and strong, related that the forest was called Forbidden, called dangerous, by students in the castle, whispered in hushed tones, and Aziraphale puzzled over this. This forest, his forest, dangerous? 

The castle’s clocktower held a mess of intricate gears and softly ticking dials, and it unsettled him to his core. These stone walls were not as safe as the living, breathing forest. They crushed him in, lifeless air filled with the insectoid clicks and ticks, and he hurried away towards the lure of the outside. He passed students in the corridor, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings, but their eyes slipped over him without a thought. 

His grace unwrinkled in the courtyard, and a boy with messy, everywhere black hair was saying something about going into the forest that night. The hunger in his eyes, the desperation struggling against fear, cast worry into Aziraphale’s heart. His forest, dealing these emotions into a boy too young for these pains? 

He turned to make his way back into the castle, passing between clusters of students simultaneously savoring the ends of the crisp autumn and awaiting the snap of winter to knock leaves from trees. The heavy oaken door opened with a thought, and rather than passing into an empty passageway he smacked directly into someone. 

The someone stepped back, bristling and indignant, and then froze. 

“Aziraphale? Is that you?” The someone peered at him curiously, recognition flashing across yellow eyes revealed when their dark glasses were knocked askew. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Six thousand years passed through all the many revolutions, watched as humanity learned the wonders of stone, the wonders of bronze, and the gleaming towers they built with it. It lent the chance to see society built around black wings, to have progress determined by the shape of a demon in the midst. 

Crowley liked the dungeons built around his form, edges sculpted against the ridge of his wings, liked the stone to match his feathers. He had been the guardian angel of the stars as an angel, and now, now that he was irreversibly Fallen, stole away as far from the sky as he could, the sting of his rejection scorching bone-deep every time the constellations graced his vision. It was safer underground, and yet. 

And yet. The incessant drip. drip. drip. of the dungeons, the dark, the damp, the echoes… it reminded him of hell. Reminded him of pain and eternal loneliness in the crush of cold bodies, thronging the too-small spaces. He stayed in his dungeons, though, and kept them as clean as he could. Living outside, where everyone could see him and question who he was, hurt far more than dealing with the dark. 

Besides, he had serpent eyes, and the lanterns were enough to see by. The stones remembered him here, in the castle on the hill, said things in their own ancient tongue that sent hot shockwaves to his bones. And the students in the class down the passageway, they knew him, too. Asked for help with assignments, and he was more than happy to grant a demonic miracle or two to lessen the wrath of the professor with the harsh voice. 

Holidays in the castle were beautiful. The man who lived in the cottage at the edge brought pumpkins bigger than cars into the dungeons to carve, and Crowley, lounging around waiting, always offered his help. 

He heard talk of where the pumpkins came from, the forest on the grounds in which strange magic took place, but he was loathe to leave the comfort of the castle and elected to leave the forest as it was. Fascinating plants be damned. He had the greenhouses. 

That is, until the day before Halloween, when the air that seeped into the dungeons from outside carried notes of crisp apples and the trees he’d never seen before. The courtyard was only two flights of stairs up, and he’d long since struck a deal with to never move as he ascended. His mind wandered as he came off the stairs, eyeing the portraits moving on the walls absently, and bounced off a soft figure standing in his way, glasses clattering to the floor. 

He took in a tan overcoat and a head of dandelion fluff hair, ready to unleash a scathing remark, and then. 

“Aziraphale, is that you?” 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Catching up on six thousand years of off-and-on proved to be exhausting. Sitting atop the astronomy tower, the keys to which the professor with the beard that brushed his knees and half-moon glasses had dropped in the corridor with a backwards wink, staring at the stars, trying to remember everything they’d ever forgotten. 

“I saved a woman, once,” the demon whispered into the night. “She was drowning, and I pulled her out. No miracle, no nothing. Just me.” 

The angel to his side, white ruffled wings stretched lazily back over the stones atop the tower, barely acknowledged what he said, eyes too focused on the pinpricks of light overhead. 

“Well done, my dear,” he replied, then, “Which of these were yours?” He nodded up at the stars, indicating the ones twinkling both far and near. “You built galaxies, what else?” 

Crowley hesitated. His time, before the Fall, the parts he kept locked out of memory. 

“Black holes, too, and the sorts of things the scientists are just now finding.” 

Silence lapsed between them, warm and soft. 

“There’s one, they call it as a Swan, it’s, er,” he gestured with one hand, trying to explain, “it’s like two stars. Cygnus X-1, you can look it up.” 

Aziraphale crinkled his brow, contemplating. “Two stars, together?” 

Crowley shook his head. “Star and a black hole. You know, the classic good and evil, like… like heaven and hell.” Like you and me, he thought. “One’s going to overpower the other one day, but for now they’re just two.” 

The trees in the distance whispered softly, and the two shivered simultaneously. 

“Would you like to come to the forest sometime?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his head towards the mass in the distance. “It’s not as Forbidden as they all call it.” 

“Would you like to come down to the dungeons sometime?” Crowley said, adjusting his wings to lay flat, half on top of Aziraphale’s own. “They’re dark, but they’re cozy.” 

“I’d like that,” Aziraphale said. 

“Me too,” agreed Crowley. 

Overhead, the sky twinkled, constellations and planets swirling in a private dance of their own as angel and demon sat side by side for the first time in millenia.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! As always, kudos and comments are VERY appreciated!


End file.
